The madwoman understood the boy and began to sing the _Song of the Night_. Doña Consolacion listened at first with a sneer, which disappeared little by little from her lips. She became attentive, then serious, and even somewhat thoughtful. The voice, the sentiment in the lines, and the song itself affected her--that dry and withered heart was perhaps thirsting for rain. She understood it well: "The sadness, the cold, and the moisture that descend from the sky when wrapped in the mantle of night," so ran the _kundíman_, seemed to be descending also on her heart. "The withered and faded flower which during the day flaunted her finery, seeking applause and full of vanity, at eventide, repentant and disenchanted, makes an effort to raise her drooping petals to the sky, seeking a little shade to hide herself and die without the mocking of the light that saw her in her splendor, without seeing the vanity of her pride, begging also that a little dew should weep upon her. The nightbird leaves his solitary retreat, the hollow of an ancient trunk, and disturbs the sad loneliness of the open places--" "No, don't sing!" she exclaimed in perfect Tagalog, as she rose with agitation. "Don't sing! Those verses hurt me." The crazy woman became silent. The boy ejaculated, "_Abá!_ She talks Tagalog!" and stood staring with admiration at his mistress, who, realizing that she had given herself away, was ashamed of it, and as her nature was not that of a woman, the shame took the aspect of rage and hate; so she showed the door to the imprudent boy and closed it behind him with a kick. Twisting the whip in her nervous hands, she took a few turns around the room, then stopping suddenly in front of the crazy woman, said to her in Spanish, "Dance!" But Sisa did not move. "Dance, dance!" she repeated in a sinister tone. The madwoman looked at her with wandering, expressionless eyes, while the alfereza lifted one of her arms, then the other, and shook them, but to no purpose, for Sisa did not understand. Then she began to jump about and shake herself, encouraging Sisa to imitate her. In the distance was to be heard the music of the procession playing a grave and majestic march, but Doña Consolacion danced furiously, keeping other time to other music resounding within her. Sisa gazed at her without moving, while her eyes expressed curiosity and something like a weak smile hovered around her pallid lips: the lady's dancing amused her. The latter stopped as if ashamed, raised the whip,--that terrible whip known to thieves and soldiers, made in Ulango [111] and perfected by the alferez with twisted wires,--and said, "Now it's your turn to dance--dance!" She began to strike the madwoman's bare feet gently with the whip. Sisa's face drew up with pain and she was forced to protect herself with her hands. "Aha, now you're starting!" she exclaimed with savage joy, passing from _lento_ to _allegro vivace_. The afflicted Sisa gave a cry of pain and quickly raised her foot.